


Out of Time

by Emma



Series: The Queen's Magicians [10]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-06
Updated: 2012-07-05
Packaged: 2017-11-09 06:43:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/452476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Doctor Owen Harper falls in love with an improper stranger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

    “Hey, Gwen!”

    Gwen waved at the young woman standing by the coffee machine. “Kyra. How are you?”

    Kyra shrugged. “Still making coffee. So they finally called Torchwood in on the airport thing?”

    “Yeah. You have time for a cup? Not here, though. There's that new French cafe...”

    “I'm supposed to be off for lunch in a few minutes,” Kyra said, her eyes brightening at the idea of something rich and creamy. “I could meet you.”

    “Good.”

    Gwen walked out of the station, winking as she passed Jack, who was deep in conversation with the Assistant Commissioner. They had worked out a division of labor that had turned to be highly satisfactory; while Jack concentrated on officialdom, Gwen would troll for information among the lower ranks. The street constables would happily unburden themselves of the very thing that senior management wanted to keep under wraps, especially to someone like Gwen, who was one of their own, so to speak.

    Less than ten minutes later Kyra bounced in. Gwen had already ordered a nice selection of pastries and two cups of cafe au lait. Kyra sank into the chair opposite her with a sigh of contentment.

    “Now, this is a lunch.” She giggled. “I'll be sedated all afternoon, which is a good thing, considering that I have to take notes during the monthly budget meeting.”

    "Load up, then.” Gwen offered the plate. “What's going on with this airport thing, then? They all seem to be spooked by it. The Chief Constable sounded about ready to tear out her hair.”

    “So she should be, considering all the pressure she's under. The Carrington people have been making all sorts of noises about calling in the London crowd.” Kyra snorted. The Chief Constable was a favorite with the ranks and they resented any political games aimed at her. “”As if they had better exorcists than we do or something.”

    “So it's a ghost?”

    “Kind of.” Kyra scooped up from crème fraiche on her finger and licked at it. “It's a ghost plane.”

    “That's unusual.”

    “That's what Brother Allan says.”

    Brother Allan was the head of Glamorgan Police's Parapsychological Unit. Gwen had worked with him briefly and had a high opinion of his abilities. “So tell me about this ghost plane.”

    “It started about a month ago. They tore down most of the airport, but when they got to what used to be the hangar for this little private airline that used to ferry all the rich folks in Cardiff, things started going pear-shaped in a big way. First, all kinds of things kept going wrong with the equipment. The management called in an exorcist and that only seemed to make it worse. Two accidents shut down the site for days at a time. The last one nearly killed one of the workers. Then neighbours started to hear the sound of a plane taking off, then the engine stalling and a crash. Every night they hear it and every morning, when the workers come in, the whole place looks like it's been hit by a hurricane. Heavy equipment overturned, electrical things fried. It's been going on for a week.”

    “Lady Aranrhod have mercy. No wonder they called Jack.”

    “Well, that was the Chief Constable. The others aren't so sure.” The twist of Kyra's lips told Gwen all she needed to know about Kyra's opinion of _the others_. “But Brother Allen backed her up.”

    “That would do it. There's Jack.”

    Kyra turned to watch Jack walk towards them. “He's just... something, isn't he?” She gave Gwen a conspiratorial smile. “Too bad you got Rhys.”

    “Rhys keeps me very happy, thank you.” Gwen grinned back. “Besides, if I made a move on Jack, Ianto would shoot me.”

    “That piece of gorgeous is gay?” Kyra pouted.

    “Nope. That piece of gorgeous had his head turned by another piece of gorgeous. You see them together, your heart stops.” Gwen sighed. “But nothing beats my Rhys.”

    “Great Mother, Gwen, you're fathoms in love.”

    “Yes. Clear your calendar for next year. If I'm lucky...” A small shadow passed over her face which Kyra did not notice, “you might get an invitation. Hey, Jack. This is my friend Constable Kyra Oakland. She's a saesnes, but we don't hold it against her.”

    “Hello, Kyra.” Jack bestowed on the Constable one of his most charming smiles. Gwen had a sudden vision of Kyra melting into a puddle like the witch in _The Wizard of Oz._ “I'm sorry but I have to take Gwen away. Business.”

    “Yeah... yes... I have to get back myself... busy this afternoon... “ Kyra babbled. “See you later, Gwen.”

    They watched her go. “Did you get something?” Jack said

    “Yeah. They're pissing their pants over there and trying not to show it.”

    “I got the same impression. I called Ianto and Tosh and told them to start searching. Let's pick up some lunch and get back to the Hub.”

    A quick stop at their favorite pizzeria revealed that Ianto had predicted their choice. Two large pizzas, one meat, one veggie, were waiting for them.

    If I didn't love Rhys so much,” Gwen giggled. “I'd steal that man of yours.”

    Jack showed her his teeth in a predator's smile. “Not if you want to live to dandle great-grandchildren on your knee, sweetheart.”

    They laughed. Gwen drew her arm through Jack's as they walked towards the tourist office. As usual, they found the place shuttered and the door locked. Gwen wondered if tourists ever wondered what kind of tourist bureau would have an office that was closed most of the time.

    They found Owen sitting back, watching Ianto and Tosh, who were bent over Tosh's terminal. Ianto was tracing something on the screen with his finger. “Yes, that's it.” He said to Tosh. “It crashed right about there. My mam remembers it.”

    “What does your mam remember?” Jack asked, although Gwen noticed he was more interested in checking out Ianto's rear. A very nice rear, actually, she thought, giving Ianto the once over herself.

    Ianto looked back at them. “The crash of the _Sky Gypsy_ in 1953. She used to talk about it. One of the people who was killed was a man called John Ellis.” Ianto pressed a key and the image of a man appeared on the monitor. To Gwen he seemed the very image of an English businessman. “Big in banking and investment circles, ruthless, disliked by a lot of people. There were rumours that the crash was deliberate, but I don't think anyone looked very hard after the report declaring it an accident was released.”

    “Who else died?”

    “Diane Holmes was the pilot, unusual in those days, but by all accounts she was unusual.” The image that appeared made all the men hold themselves up a little straighter. Owen's quiet _wow_ made Tosh and Gwen grin at each other. “She had a reputation as a bit of a heart breaker. One of her suitor killed himself after she dumped him for another man. And finally,” a young girl with a wistful look about her smiled at them from the monitor, “Emma-Louise Cowell. A poor little rich orphan with more money than the Bank of England and some shady heirs.”

    “Do we know anything about the charter company?”

    “Yes. Sky Charters. Owned by Samuel Troughton. Well liked, the report attached no blame to him. The _Sky Gypsy_ flew into storm clouds a few minutes after takeoff. People on the ground could hear the engine stall, and then the plane came out of the clouds in a dive and crashed nose first into the river. The report found that one of the wings and the engine had been hit by lightning. Nobody's fault. Just bad luck.”

    “So why the haunting now?” Tosh asked. “I thought in these cases it started almost immediately.”

    “Maybe it's just place memory,” Gwen said. “Sometimes when something terrible happens in a place, it retains the memory of the event and it replays... no that wouldn't do it. There was an even bigger crash in that airport later on, wasn't there?”

    “Yes,” Tosh confirmed. “A jet crashed on landing in 1972. Fifty dead.”

    “So why this small accident?” Gwen said. “Makes no sense, unless there's something more to it than the crash.”

    “An interesting thing,” Ianto mused. “The problem started when the construction crew tried to bring down the old hangar. So it may be that the problems centers around it, rather than the plane. Something that happened in that hangar before the plane took off.”

    “All right,” Jack said. “Let's eat these things before they get cold. Then Owen, Gwen, and I will head out to the airport. Tosh, Ianto, the two of you go through the lives of everyone connected to this flight until they have no secrets at all.”


	2. Chapter 2

          Doctor Owen Harper was a rational man, or so he believed. He had climbed his way out of poverty by sheer brains and willpower, always focused on his goals, planning each step. He hadn't had much time for idle imaginings. When he had discovered his healing Talent he had directed his steps towards a medical career. It was his good luck that he fallen in love with it along the way, but he wouldn't have cared anyway. Success was important to him; the field was secondary.

           Included in the Healer's curriculum was learning to treat folk who believed they were haunted. He had learned all the signs of the real thing and he couldn’t spot anything. But even as his rational self ran through the list of atmospheric conditions and environmental symptoms he had memorized in medical school – _unusual drops in temperature, unexplainable noises, moving or levitating objects, lights turning on and off, being touched when nobody is nearby --_ another part of him was shivering.

           There was something wrong with the hangar.

           It was a long, low building with a curved roof. The walls were thick and there were few windows. The effect was to create a tunnel that made the smallest noise resonate. He could hear Gwen's muttered complaints about dirt and bacteria as she searched the small office all the way at the other end. Jack was nosing about the perimeter, but as usual, he made no noise at all.

           Owen himself was in a section that seemed to have been a sort of waiting room or lounge. There were some oak Windsor chairs arranged around a small table. A leather sofa with side tables was set against a partition wall which was mostly kindling now. Against another wall, this one in pretty decent condition, a long, narrow sideboard held a HMV record player, a stack of records, and some bottles and glasses. He wondered how it had looked when it had been a luxury for the moneyed class of the nineteen-fifties.

           Suddenly he heard something.... music? He tilted his head towards the sound. Doris Day. His mother had played her albums over and over again. He remembered this one.... _Bewitched, Bothered, and Bewildered,_ that was it. He remembered especially because he had heard the long version of the lyrics from an Ella Fitzgerald recording much later. His eyes drifted closed as he moved towards the sideboard. His hands unerringly found the stack of records. He pulled one out from the middle of the pile and put it on the ruined turntable.

           “Owen!” Jack's voice rattled him awake. “What are you...”

           But it was too late. The room around them blurred and refashioned itself into the lounge Owen had been trying to visualize. The people he had seen in the monitors just that morning were seated around the room. John Ellis perched stiffly on the edge of one of the chairs, holding a drink in his left hand and glowering at everyone impartially. Emma-Louise Cowell sat at one end of the sofa, tapping her foot lightly to the music. She wore a narrow-skirted suit that even to his inexpert eye looked incredibly expensive, with a little nothing hat and matching shoes and purse. Diane Holmes sprawled at the other end, utterly relaxed and confident in her flight suit, her dark hair and red lips explosive when compared to the pastel prettiness of Emma-Louise.

           Hello,” she said. “You must be the other passengers.”

           Jack nodded. “We must be.” He said, taking Gwen's arm as she nearly tripped. “Are we late?”

           “Not really,” Diane said, cutting off whatever John Ellis had been about to say. “We have one more person coming and then we'll be off. Next stop, Paris.”

           “I can't see why we cannot take off immediately,” John Ellis said. “Our tickets specify a time of departure. It is sheer disregard for the needs of your customers to make us wait for someone who can't be bothered to arrive promptly.”

           “Please, John.” Emma-Louise's voice was soft. “Just a few more minutes. If he's not here by three o'clock we'll go.”

           “All right, my dear. As you wish.”

           Jack motioned Owen and Gwen towards the sideboard. He poured a splash of Scotch in three glasses and handed them around. “They don't know they're dead, do they?” he whispered to Gwen.

           “No. But there's something else here, Jack.” She made a small circular gesture with her forefinger. “This is a construct. Whoever or whatever is doing this is recreating the place and time. The three of them are going through the motions because they think it’s that time and place. It’s as if… someone is trying to get something to happen.”

           “Could it be one of them?”

           “Oh, yes.” Gwen shivered and tossed back her Scotch. “Though it would take a very strong mind to maintain this much reality in place.”

           “All right.” Jack set down his glass. “We need to talk to this people, get some information. I’ll take Ellis. The uniform does wonders sometimes with that sort. Gwen, you get Emma-Louise. Owen, don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

           Owen tried to wipe the smirk from his face, but barely succeeded. He set down his glass and walked over to Diane.

           “You’re the pilot?”

           “If you’re here to demand a male pilot, I’ll just tell you that Mr. Ellis already tried. There are no other pilots at the moment. I am fully trained and qualified and spent the last ten years ferrying government types all over the British Isles.”

           He held out his hands in a “surrender” gesture. “Not me. If you’re qualified, you’re qualified. My best friend is a technologist. She would kick me into next week if I tried to claim she was unqualified by reason of being female.”

           Her answering smile dazzled him. “Now that’s refreshing. I’m Diane Holmes, by the way.”

           “Doctor Owen Harper.”

           “What takes you to Paris, doctor Harper?”

           “Owen, please. Vacation,” he improvised. “Haven’t had one since I started my residency. Not a real one, anyway.”

           She smiled. “Do you dance, doctor Harper?”

           “Yes, I do, Miss Holmes.”

           She held out her hand. He took it and pulled her up. They swayed gracefully to Doris Day, moving slowly in a tight circle. Owen sent a quick mental thanks to the lovely dance instructor that had taken the time to sort his left foot from his right, over his loud objections. Smiling, he signaled a turn and found Diane followed him perfectly. He got a little more inventive, spinning her out and then back, and again she followed perfectly.

           “You’ve had lessons,” she whispered in his ear. “I like that. Most men just fumble through it.”

           He felt the blush rise above his collar. So did Diane, and she laughed in full-throated amusement. “You have a dirty mind, doctor Harper. I like that too.”

           Seated on the couch next to Emma-Louise, Gwen watched Owen and Diane dance. She hadn’t realized Owen could dance like that, almost like a professional, he was that good. She wondered if she should drop a little hint in Toshiko’s ear; she had seen the way Tosh looked at Owen sometimes. She sighed. No, maybe not. People should find their way to each other by themselves. But that did not mean she couldn’t have old-fashioned dance music at her next party…

            “Doesn’t it bother you?”

           She looked at Emma-Louise. “What?”

           Emma-Louise tilted her head in the direction of the dancing couple. “He’s your boyfriend, isn’t he?”

           “Lady, no! He’s a friend.”

           “But you’re travelling with him?”

           “No, actually, I’m travelling with him.” She pointed at Jack. “My boss. Captain Jack Harkness.”

           Emma-Louise’s eyes got very big. “That’s Jack Harkness?”

           “You’ve heard of him?”

           Everyone in Cardiff has! Big war hero, everyone expected him to stay in Whitehall, but he chose to come home to Cardiff and take over Torchwood.” She mock-pouted. “Turns down all social invitations. The lionesses are going mad.”

           “The lionesses?”

           “The ladies who matter. The ones who control the social spin in Cardiff.” She giggled. “Captain Harkness is their favorite target but he has proven elusive. And what do you do for him?”

           Was there a little malice in the question, or just cattiness? Gwen decided to push the envelope a little. “I’m his medium.”

           Emma-Louise’s face didn’t change. “My dear. Such an onerous job. Oh, God, listen to me, I’m sounding like my aunt, all proper and lady like, when what I really want to know is all the gory details…. I’m sorry, that sounded terrible, didn’t it?”

           Gwen laughed. “A bit, yes, but it’s a normal human reaction, so no worries. Actually, I hate talking about my job. But you… why are you heading to Paris?”

           “John insists I need to be present at the final negotiations for this business deal he’s working on. John Ellis, him,” she gestured towards the table, “my father’s former business partner and my trustee until I turn twenty-five. Three more years.”

           “And then you cut the apron strings?”

           “Oh, I don’t know. He’s a good man, Uncle John. But he’s old-fashioned, and then there’s my fiancé, Alan, he may want a bit of a say, don’t you think?”

           Jack had been watching John Ellis watch Owen and Diane dance. As the song was ending, Owen dipped Diane over one arm; they were looking into each other's eyes and laughing. Ellis pushed back his chair and made to stand up. Jack put a hand on his arm.

           “Don't.”

           Ellis sat back down. “Do you know what she did?”

           "I know what they say. But it wasn't her fault. She was entitled to choose.”

           “Peter McCreigh was a good man. He would have taken care of her, provided for her. What else did she need?”

           “I don't know. And neither do you. And from what you tell me, neither did Peter McCreigh.”

           “You're right. These days, these women... everything seems turned around.” John sighed. “Well, at least I'm off the hook in three more years. Emma-Louise gets her inheritance. I've been teaching her the business and she's bright enough to manage.”

           “What are you going to do?”

           “Retire to Barbados and sip drinks with little umbrellas in them all day. My wife says she'll wear a sarong and lay on the beach.” He grinned. “My son is coming along well. He'll manage the dosh and I'll spend it.”

           “Sounds like a good plan.”

           The song stopped. Owen and Diane stayed with their arms around each other for a moment, but the spell was broken by the door opening with a bang. “I'm sorry I'm late, everyone.”


	3. Chapter 3

     Ianto set down the printouts and looked a Tosh with a frown.

     “Yes.” She answered the unspoken question. “The accident report is rubbish. The AIB inspector arrived three days after the Navy pulled the plane up. He spent less than a day looking over the wreck and issued a report stating that the plane had been hit by lightning. He ignored the Navy's own reports. There were two destroyers in dock for repairs with skeleton crews on board. Five of the crew members reported hearing the plane's engine stall before the explosion. One of them, an experienced clairvoyant, also reported seeing a man's hand holding a knife and cutting through a fuel line.”

     “Do we know anything about this inspector?”

     She slid another printout across the table. “He left AIB three months after the accident. Set up a small consulting company working with plane designers and engineers. CT Consulting, Ltd. CT for Cameron Tucker. Became very wealthy and then left it all and became an anchorite.”

     “That's an... unusual career path. Catholic or Celt?”

     “Celt. He's at Pontiscill Abbey near Merthyr Tydfil. I called earlier and spoke to the abbot. Brother Adwr will see us.”

     “One wonders why he named himself Brother Coward.” Ianto said softly. “Anything else?”

     “Right before Emma-Louise went on the trip she made a will leaving everything to one Alan Vansittart. Aristocratic wastrel in the Victorian Gothic style. Family disowned him. He was making a living by squiring older wealthy ladies about.” She grinned when Ianto gave her the raised eyebrow. “That's what they called it in those days.”

     “And he found Emma-Louise and his life of service was over. Do we have anything on him?”

     “Oh yes. He made a try for the fortune, but it turns out that majority of it was in a trust that specified that Emma-Louise couldn't dispose of it until she received it outright. He did get the Cowell house and about twenty-five thousand pounds, plus Emma-Louise's personal property, jewelry and so forth. He left town immediately and everything went on the market. Fetched him another ninety thousand or so.”

     “And where is Mr. Vansittart now?”

     “Dead. He was killed about six months after the accident. He was visiting friends in the Lake District and they went swimming. By all accounts, Alan Vansittart was an expert swimmer, but he drowned in one of the most placid stretches of water in these isles. At least one person swears to this day that he was pulled under by something.”

     “What happened to the money?”

     “It went to his younger sister, specifically to pay for her children's education.”

     “Can we talk to her?”

     “She lives in Richmond. I asked Lily to go visit and see what she could get.”

     Ianto nodded. Lily Chen was a Canary Wharf survivor, a talented empath. After the disaster she had refused to return to Torchwood, so Jack had placed her on a personal retainer. If anyone could get through to Vansittart's sister, it was her. “Do we know what happened to the Cowell fortune?”

     “Arthur Cowell and John Ellis had a partnership agreement that stipulated that if either one died without heirs, or if the heirs themselves died without issue, the money would revert to the other partner. In this case, John Ellis Jr. inherited the whole thing.”

     “Oh?”

     “Which he promptly used to create a loan scheme for women wanting to start small businesses. In honor of Emma-Louise, whom he said would have been a great businesswoman. He was considered a radical and even denounced in Parliament. It's still an ongoing concern.”

     “The Women Enterprise Fund?” At her nod, he sighed. “No joy there. Same for John Ellis Sr. Stiff-necked old conservative and people sometimes hated his guts for his business deals but there's no doubt of his devotion to Emma-Louise. Diane Holmes, well, she had what in those days was considered a reputation, but by our standards she was a nonstarter. Orphaned as a teenager, turned her love of flying into a way to support herself. Nobody was inquiring too closely into the real age of anyone who could pilot a transport plane while all the men were on the Spitfires, so when she showed up she was snagged and put to work. After the war she couldn't find a job. Too many male pilots returning to civilian aviation. Then Throughton offered her a job. She had saved his life once during the war.”

     “And the man who killed himself?”

     “Peter McCreigh? If he were alive today he would have been diagnosed as a manic-depressive. Mind you, he could have been diagnosed but the fact kept secret. In those days mental illness was a stigma most families would have done anything to keep private.”

     “So all we have is our former inspector turned religious contemplative?”

     “And the unexpected drowning of the one man who seemed to have benefited from the plane crash. I'll head out to Merthyr Tydfil...”

     “We'll head out. No, don't argue with me. I've already put the whole place on stand-and-watch mode and notified Andy. So if you're thinking of leaving me behind, think again.”

     Ianto gave her a cheeky grin. “I was just going to recommend that you change your shoes. Most abbeys have restrictions about driving into the grounds.”

     Pontiscill Abbey sprawled along the shore of a natural lake that had been turned into a reservoir. They skirted the Brecon Mountain Railway station and passed a cluster of very elegant homes before entering a thick forest. A few miles in, the road paralleled a high stone fence and then turned, coming to an abrupt end in front of the Abbey gates. A young monk was waiting for them. He gestured towards the small parking area to one side.

     Beyond the gates, a trail led steeply downwards towards a slate-roofed basilica in the old Roman style. Its long axis lay along the shore. An arched passage faced the trail, leading into the atrium courtyard. The trail itself opened up into a semicircular drive of crushed stone lined with planters filled with eglantines. From the side closest to the portico another trail led up to the graveyard and a small hut beyond.

     “Brother Adwr lives there,” the monk pointed. “He tasked me to inquire if either one of you is of our faith.”

     “I am,” Ianto said.

     “Then you are to go alone and speak to him.” He looked apologetically at Tosh. “I am sorry. He is old and becoming a little set in his ways.”

     “I understand. Is it all right if I just sit there,” she pointed at a small bench set among the flowers “and wait? It is a lovely day and the roses are beautiful.”

     “Yes, of course.”

     Ianto climbed the path to the hut. The structure was about as large as Jack's room below the office, and it was completely bricked in. The only access was through a small window cut on the seaward side. “Brother Adwr?” he called.

     A face appeared at the opening. It was seamed with wrinkles, and dirty white hair formed a cloud about it, but the eyes were clear and very aware. “Torchwood?”

     “Yes, sir. I'm Ianto Jones. I've come to ask you about the _Sky Gypsy_. The accident?”

     “It was no accident. I knew it as soon as I looked at it. I had a touch of Talent, enough to see.” Long hands that had once been elegant rubbed at the hair and face. “I knew it was murder.”

     “Then why did you report it as an accident?”

     “Fear. And greed. I was assigned to the job the day after the request came in from the Cardiff authorities. I was finishing up another case so I could not leave until the next day. That morning, as I was packing, an envelope arrived in the morning post. It contained two drawings. One was of my family, my wife and daughters and myself, seated in a garden as if for a tea party. The other showed me on my knees in front of my wife and daughters' graves. There was a slip of paper inside. Someone had printed on it in block letters _twenty-five thousand says it was an accident._ ” The old man took a deep breath. “There was no way anyone outside our office could have known I would be assigned to Cardiff. My supervisor used a lottery method to assign cases.”

     Ianto nodded. “So you went to Cardiff and you did as you were told. And the money arrived.”

     “One week later. I used it to start my business. Made money as it I were the Bank of England. But I couldn't stand it, the idea of how it all came about. Once my wife died I came here. I thought, maybe if I pray long and hard enough I can cleanse my sin.” He laughed harshly. “I don't believe that anymore, but I still pray. Now go. You can send the police any time you want.”

     Ianto lowered his wards for a second and looked at the old man. “There will be no need.”

     He retraced his steps and found Tosh holding a conversation with a badger under the fascinated eyes of the young monk. She saw him coming and crooned something to the animal, who scurried away into the trees.

     “Lily called.” She told Ianto. “Mrs. Ayres was reluctant to discuss her brother, but she finally agreed to talk. Turns out Alan Vansittart had been thrown out of the family home because he liked to play with black magic. The nasty kind. They found him with a hand of glory.”

     “That fits in with what Brother Adwr told me. Come on, we need to talk to Jack. I think I know what's going on. And if I'm right, ” he shrugged, “it's not going to be easy to end this.”

     As soon as they were on their way, Ianto activated the SUV comm. “Jack's not answering his phone.” He dialed another number. “Andy? I need you to get Brother Allan out to the airport. He has experience with wraiths... yes. We'll be there in about twenty minutes.”

     They made the ride in tense silence. As the SUV pulled into the construction site, they saw not only Andy but what seemed like most of the local constabulary. They jumped out and ran across the field to where Andy and a small, rounded man in monk's robes stood waiting for them.

     “There's some sort of field over the hangar. We can't get in and I don't think anyone can get out.” Andy looked unhappy. “And we keep hearing the sound of a plane engine revving up.”

     “All right.” Ianto said. “The short version of a long tale goes like this. Emma-Louise Cowell met and got engaged to Alan Vansittart. Right before going to Paris with her guardian, John Ellis, she made a will in Vansittart's favour. Vansittart cut the fuel lines on the plane. After it crashed he laid claim to the estate and got a healthy chunk of it. I think that in her last moments, Emma-Louise understood what had happened. Her rage and fear was strong enough to lock her spirit in this plane as a vengeful wraith. Six months after her death, she drowned Alan Vansittart. I think she expected his spirit to join her, but it didn't. I think Emma-Louise is recreating the afternoon of the accident over and over again to force Vansittart's ghost to come here. But she's forgotten she's doing it.”

     “Is that possible?” Tosh asked.

     “Oh, yes.” Brother Allan nodded. “It's not unusual for the poor soul to forget what they meant to do and repeat a certain pattern over and over again.”

     “So how do we break her out of it?”

     "We present her with Alan Vansittart.” Ianto said. “I can make her believe that I'm him. The problem is that she is likely to remember the truth at some point and I would prefer not to be dragged to the Other Side by a vengeful wraith.”

     “That's where I come in, then.” Brother Allan said. “I have to block her way.”

     “Exactly.”

     “Perhaps I can help,” Tosh said. She turned her face upwards and her eyes unfocused. A kestrel dove out of the clouds to perch on her extended arm. She brought him close until his beak rested against her face. After a while, she looked up. “He thinks they can help. Kestrels can move across the Rift. If she manages to get the plane off the ground, they will slow it down.” She grinned impishly at the staring men. “What? We can use the help, can't we?”

     Ianto gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Every bit we can get.” He gave himself a quick once-over. “Let's get this over with.”

     He lowered his wards and focused as he moved forward. He felt energy crawl over him, but he brushed the sensation away as he concentrated on maintaining the illusion. He pulled the hangar door opened. “I'm sorry I'm late, everyone.”


	4. Chapter 4

       Owen sipped his drink and watched Diane. She was telling him about learning to fly, and he was listening, he really was, but part of him was just watching. The way her hands moved as she demonstrated an aerial maneuver; the way her eyebrows rose when she teased him; the way she raised her glass; the way her lips curved as she smiled at him, letting him know she knew he was watching.

      The Torchwood part of him was wondering what the hell Ianto was up to. He was sitting on the sofa next to Emma-Louise, holding her hand and talking to her earnestly. If the barely concealed panic on Gwen's face was anything to go by, Ianto was balancing on the edge of disaster. The little copper was a tough customer, and if she was scared, Owen knew for certain he should be too.

      “Discarded so soon for a pretty face.”

     The acid edge on Diane's words had him turning back towards her. “What?”

     “Emma-Louise. You've been staring at her.”

     “Not her. Him. He doesn't seem to be quite...” He made a vague gesture.

     Diane laughed. “The right sort? I suppose not. Alan Vansittart. Poor as a church mouse. Makes his living off of rich, bored matrons. How he got his claws on Emma-Louise is beyond me. I would have thought Ellis and his wife kept a tighter rein on her social contacts. On the other hand, I can see why she would be interested. Those amazing gray eyes... What woman wouldn't?”

     Owen felt a cold chill run down his back. Obviously, where he saw blue-eyed Ianto Jones, Diane was seeing someone else. That meant Ianto was using his power to influence how some people saw him. During the Lisa debacle Owen had learned that Ianto hated that part of his power and would only use it in extreme circumstances. They were really in trouble.

     “Yeah. No wonder. Fancy another Coke?”

     “No, thanks.”

     “Something stronger?”

     “Flying and booze make for a bad combination. I live on the twelve-hour rule.” She answered his unspoken question. “No alcohol twelve hours before a flight.”

     “Ah.” Owen took the glasses and headed towards the sideboard. As he passed Jack and Gwen, sitting at the table with John Ellis, he gave them a bland glance. After a few moments, he heard them get up and follow. When they reached him, he went through the motions of offering drinks.

     “The man sitting next to Emma-Louise,” he whispered, “is one Alan Vansittart. Aristocratic gigolo. Diane was actually shocked to see them together.”

     “Ellis wasn't happy to see him,” Gwen said in the same tone. “I thought he was going to jump up and hit him. But it was like he couldn't move.”

     “Maybe he couldn't,” Jack said. “You said this was a construct. Maybe what we're seeing is a performance.”

     Owen had been looking over their shoulders. “Or somebody's version of reality? How real can it be that an upper crust young Catholic lady of the nineteen fifties would sit down to a chat with a Pagan medium? Or that a notorious businessman would be subservient to a twenty-two year old girl? Or...”

     “Or that a man like Doctor Owen Harper would fall in love with a grease monkey with a nasty past?” Diane said softly. “Especially one who is dead?”

     They turned to find her standing close behind them. Her eyes were locked on Owen.

     “I was going to say how real can it be that a woman like Diane Holmes would fall in love with me at first sight?” He said softly. “When did you know?”

     “When your friend came in. He looked like Alan Vansittart, but... he didn't. And suddenly, I was seeing my own death.” She staggered slightly. “And a second later I realized it had already happened. I've been trying to keep myself from screaming but... I think I'm going to need that drink.”

     He poured a generous amount into a glass and passed it over. “So it's Emma-Louise.”

     She nodded. “I think so. I remember a little about... it wasn't an accident, was it? She called his name. I think she said _I'll never let you go._ But I really wasn't paying attention. I was trying to keep the _Gypsy_ from crashing into St. Mary Street on a shopping day.” She shuddered. “I managed by the skin of my teeth.” She tossed back the rest of the whiskey. “How's she keeping us here?”

     “We don't know.” Jack said. “But I think our friend has figured it out.”

     “She's very strong,” Gwen murmured. “I can't find a single crack in the construct. But she's not completely in control. We've been talking for a while now and she hasn't noticed it.” 

     “She's concentrating on them.” Diane replied. “In life John Ellis would have made mincemeat out of Alan Vansittart. In that reality, those two men have to be kept apart.”

     “That's what Ianto's up to,” Jack said. “He's going to try to make her lose control.”

     “We better be ready for it,” Gwen set down her glass. “Wraiths can get very violent when they feel threatened.”

     They drifted back to their seats. Owen hesitated for only a second before perching on the arm of the sofa and reaching for Diane's hand. She didn't look at him, but twined her fingers through his and held tight. It felt real, he thought. Solid. Maybe their love had been born out of a young woman's imagination, but it felt as right and true as his love for Katie had been.

     Ianto said something in a voice too low for the words to be overheard, but from the tone and the sharp gesture Owen could guess it was not pleasant. Emma-Louise jumped up, holding out her hands like a heroine in a silent melodrama, but somehow in her the gesture seemed natural. Owen felt saddened by the realization that in spite of everything Emma-Louise Cowell was just a young woman in love.

     “Why? Why won't you marry me? Don't you love me?”

     “Of course I do.” Ianto kept his voice level. “But it can't happen, Emma. If we had been more realistic we would have known it from the beginning. I'm not a fit husband for you.”

     “Isn't that my choice to make?” 

     “No. You're not just Emma-Louise. You are Cowell Industries and there are literally thousands of people relying on you.” He held up his hand to silence the threatening flood of words. “Ask Mr. Ellis if you don't want to believe me.”

     She turned to her guardian, staring fixedly at him with eyes grown huge and feverish. “John?”

     Ellis started to say something then stopped. Finally he dragged the words out with what seemed like an immense effort of will. “He's right, Emmie. You... can't.”

     “But I love him,” Emma-Louise said in a desolate little whisper. She turned back to Ianto. “I love you.”

     “No, you don't.” Ianto replied. “How can you? You have experienced nothing of life yet. They've protected you and coddled you and kept you from everything a girl your age should have experienced. After you have done a bit more living, then maybe you can talk about love.”

     Owen knew the exact moment Emma-Louise's control started to slip. Diane's hand grew insubstantial in his, as if he were holding a palmful of smoke. Then it became solid again. He brought it up to his lips and kissed each finger. He felt her other hand grip his knee as she also fought to retain the link between them.

     “No! I won't listen!” Emma-Louise's scream literally shook the building. “I shall have what I want to have!”

     “Stop being so childish.” Ianto's voice now carried an edge of contempt. “You were raised better than this.”

     In the sudden silence, they heard the sound of a plane's engine revving up . In the enclosed space of the hangar, it rattled them to their very bones.

     “It's time to go,” Emma-Louise said composedly. “Come, John, Miss Holmes. We need to start ag...”

     “No!” Diane said. “I won't play this game anymore. I don't know how you managed to do this to us, but you're not doing it again. I'm not your puppet, damn it!”

     The whine of the engine became unbearable. The hangar shook and rattled and papers and small objects flew everywhere. Owen protected Diane as best he could from the missiles and he noticed Jack was doing the same for Gwen.

     “Stop it, Emma-Louise!” Ianto stepped in front of her, blocking the way to the door. “You don't know what you're doing!”

     “I know that I love you!”

     “You don't know anything!” He raised his wards, allowing her mind to see him as he really was. “You didn't even know I'm not Alan Vansittart!”

     Her scream turned into a roar as she let go of the construct to direct all her energies against him. The psychic blow lifted Ianto off his feet and tossed him several feet away to crash against the wall and slide down to the dirty floor. She started towards him, arms outstretched, her hands turning into clawed paws as the fingers grew razor-sharp nails, her face distorting into a horrible caricature of itself, as she focused all her need for revenge on him.

     But in turning her back to the rest of them she had given Jack the chance he had been waiting for. He launched himself into a flat dive, slamming into her and wrapping his arms around her upper body, trapping her against him. 

     “Emma-Louise, stop. Stop!” He screamed in her ear. “Don't do this.”

     “Where is he? Alan! Alan!” Her face grew calm and vacant. “You must come to me. I'm waiting for you..”

     Owen knew what Jack was going to do next. There was nothing else they could do. But once Emma-Louise had passed through the Gate, everything she had created would disappear, and everyone she had forced to stay would be free to leave. He stood up, dragging Diane to her feet and kissed her. He felt her arms go around him and cling tightly for a few seconds, then she pushed him away gently.

     “Don't tempt me, Owen. It would be so easy to end up like her.” She cupped his face in her hands, rubbing her thumbs over his cheekbones. “I do care about you. Very much. But I'm out of time in every sense of the phrase. And besides... there might be adventures beyond this one.”

     “And you are an adventurous woman,” he smiled through the tears.

     “Wish me luck?”

     “Always. Forever.” He kissed her one last time. “Go with God, Diane Holmes.”

     He stepped back, nodding to Jack. He watched as Jack pressed his lips to Emma-Louise's forehead. The girl was unresponsive and Owen had the terrible feeling that there was nothing left of the tenacious mind they had encountered. He watched as the glow enveloped them both and Emma-Louise Cowell's spirit left the material plane and Jack was left empty-armed. Then he turned and made for the exit, slowing down briefly as he passed Ianto, who was using Gwen's shoulders to hold himself up. When Ianto nodded reassuringly, he picked up speed again until he was outside, breathing clean air. 

     Toshiko appeared out of the mass of police that surrounded the hangar. She ran to stand in front of him, studying his face without saying a word. Then she put her arm around his waist and snuggled her shoulders under his. He leaned on her gratefully.

     “Come on,” she said. “I'll take you home, spoon some soup into you, and let you tell me all about it.”


	5. Coda

     Jack grabbed the key from Ianto's hand.

      "You're hurt,” he said, not quite meeting his lover's amused eyes. “Humor me, all right?”

      “All right.” Ianto threaded his fingers through Jack's hair and cupped the back of his neck. “But if I'm going to play invalid you're going to play nurse.”

      Jack clamped down on the rush of lust Ianto's words produced. “You are hurt. I will draw you a bath, and heat up some soup and make some toast while you're soaking, and make sure you eat it all. And then I'll put to you bed and you will get some rest. Understood?”

      “Yes, sir,” Ianto said in a soft purr. “Anything you say, sir.”

      “Ianto Jones, shut your gob and keep it shut.” Jack opened the door and ushered Ianto inside. “I don't need an argument from you. I'm tired and I don't have much energy for anything tonight.”

      Ianto plastered himself to Jack and swayed side to side slowly, rubbing against Jack's erection. “I can tell, sir.”

      Jack drew a deep breath. “I am an adult, dammit. I can control my reactions.”

      He pushed Ianto away firmly, then grabbing his hand, towed him into the bathroom. He took time to make sure the water was at the proper temperature and sprinkled in a liberal amount of the herb mixture Rhiannon, Ianto's sister, had made for him. The scents of lavender and chamomile filled the air.

      “Ianto...” He turned to find his lover already nude, examining a huge purplish-black bruise on his hip. He had to swallow a couple of times before he could make his vocal cords work. “Bath's ready. I'll be in the kitchen.”

      He tried to escape the warm, humid room, but found his way blocked. “Is that what you really want, sir?”

      “Get thee behind me, temptation,” Jack said, but he couldn't stop from running his hand along Ianto's torso from neck to waist. “Get in the tub. I'll call you when everything's ready.”

      He sorted through the freezer. Ianto liked to make soup on the weekends and freeze some of it for those late nights when they got home too tired to even think about takeaway. And when had he started to think of Ianto's bayside apartment as home? He didn't know, but he had. These days he looked forward to settling down into one corner of the big couch in front of the fireplace with a good book, Ianto in a mirror-image at the other end, their legs tangled together as they stretched out comfortably; or having dinner at the bistro-style table and chairs Ianto had placed near the balcony doors, so they could watch the city spread out below.

      He pulled out a container of potato and leek soup – Ianto had been feeling nostalgic for his mam-gu's cooking – and popped it into the microwave. He toasted and buttered bread and made tea.

      “Smells good.”

      Jack looked back over his shoulder. Ianto was leaning against the counter. He was wearing pyjama bottoms and nothing else. He hadn't bothered to dry his hair properly, so it stuck out in all directions. The sight made his mouth go dry and he wondered briefly if the feelings of surprise and delight and sheer lust would ever settle down to manageable levels.

      “Right on time.”

      The sat at the table and ate their supper, talking about all sorts of things but avoiding all things Torchwood. Another habit they had fallen into; no business at meals when the two of them were alone. Like a normal couple, Jack thought, and the thought made all the other things he had been thinking about fall into place. They were a couple. He, Jack Harkness, was one half of a domestic partnership. And didn't that put thoughts into his head.

      “What is it?” Ianto's question interrupted his delighted thoughts.

      “What?”

      “You were sitting there grinning.”

      “Was I?” He got up and started collecting plates and glasses. “Must be exhaustion. Go to bed. I'm going to sit up and read.”

      Ianto acquiesced readily and disappeared into the bedroom. He really must have been tired, because as a rule he would have fussed about staying up. Jack took care of the supper dishes and then went into the bathroom for a quick wash up. He was reaching for the comfortable pair of jogging pants he wore around the house when a small noise had him whipping around to find Ianto at the door.

      “Come to bed.”

      The low, rough voice had Jack getting hard instantly. “Ianto, you were hurt...”

      “I took a bad fall and got some bruises. That's all.” Ianto extended his hand. “Come to bed.”

      Jack dropped the jogging pants and reached to take it. Hand in hand they walked into the bedroom. Ianto had opened the curtains, and the city lights spilled in, allowing them to see each other in shades of gray and etched steel. Jack studied Ianto's gorgeous face, the strong neck, the slightly too thin ribcage, tracing every spot with his fingers. When he reached the waistband of the pyjamas, he ran his hands under the fabric to cup Ianto's buttocks and pull him tight. The shudder that ran through Ianto's body made him smile.

      “We're a perfect fit.” He whispered in his lover's ear. “Can you feel it?”

      Ianto's answer was to clamp his mouth over Jack's, moaning deep in his throat as Jack used his tongue to stroke and caress, shivering as Jack's mouth slid off his and went on a tour of exploration of his jaw and neck. Jack nuzzled and licked down Ianto's chest until he found a nipple. He bit down carefully and tugged. Ianto's moan turned into an order.

      “Bed. Now.”

      Jack obeyed, sprawling on the mound of pillows, legs splayed wide open. Giving Ianto a teasing smile, he ran his hand down his chest. He had learned, quite by chance, that Ianto liked to watch him play with himself and it appealed to his own exhibitionism to indulge his lover's little kink. He wrapped his fingers around his weeping erection and started to pump slowly. Jack could see Ianto's eyes grow huge and dark and he heard the feral growl Ianto gave before shoving shoving the pyjama bottoms down to the floor and kicking it aside.

      A few seconds later he was being pushed into the mattress by the weight of Ianto's body as it settled over his. He reached for the lube they kept on the bedside table and squeezed a generous amount on his palm, but when he tried to reach between them, Ianto stopped him and, without a word, directed Jack's hand around to Ianto's arse. Jack felt a sudden constriction in his chest. In the months they had been together, Ianto, a willing and inventive lover in every other way, had shied away from penetration.

      “Are you sure?” he whispered. “Ianto, be sure.”

      “You know what I kept thinking as I flew through the air after Emma-Louise attacked me? I kept thinking _if I die now I'll never know what it is to have Jack inside me_. And I realized that I wanted that, wanted you like that, more than anything else under the sun.”

      Jack used one hand to bring Ianto's head down to ravish his mouth while the other reached between Ianto's buttocks to work the lube in. When his fingers breached Ianto's entrance, the eager response reassured him. He thrust gently in and out until he felt the last vestige of resistance leave Ianto's body, and his lover began to rock back and forth, meeting his thrusts. When he pulled out his fingers, Ianto's little sound of disappointment was more potent than any aphrodisiac ever brewed by a hedge witch.

      “Straddle me,” he said, urging Ianto's knees to either side of his hips. “Raise up a little.”

      He positioned himself at Ianto's entrance and then urged him down. Ianto took a deep, gasping breath and pushed down just as Jack thrust upwards. Jack felt Ianto shudder as his body accepted the intrusion.

      “Are you all right?”

      “Yes. Duw, Jack...” Ianto shifted experimentally, raising up on his knees and lowering down again. “Aah.”

      Jack took Ianto's hands and intertwined their fingers., bracing his elbows against the pillows. “Lean forward a little and use my arms for leverage.”

      Ianto's mouth twisted into an caricature of his usual amused grin. “I'm going to do all the work, then?”

      “I'll help a little now and then. Promise.”

      Much as Jack had expected, Ianto turned out to be an apt pupil. After a few tries he found a rhythm that made Jack groan in approval. Jack concentrated on helping him, rolling his hips on each thrust. He couldn't keep his eyes off of Ianto's beautiful, contorted face, and he delighted when another slight shift of his hips caused him to find Ianto's prostate and Ianto's eyes flew open and he keened.

      “Jaaaack!”

      Burning now, they moved faster and faster, the rhythm becoming ragged as they worked to find their release. Jack could sense, he could _hear,_ Ianto's heartbeat racing, and he found that his was matching it beat for beat. Sensation replaced thought in their minds as fire replaced air in their lungs as they struggled to find release. Jack felt Ianto contract around him and his body arched, moving of its own volition, releasing Ianto's hands to wrap around his body and press him down until their chests were pressed together, and Ianto's cock was trapped between them, and one more movement was enough to send them both soaring over the edge.

      They cuddled afterwards, reluctant to separate, their legs tangled together, Ianto's head against Jack's shoulder, Jack's arm around Ianto's waist, holding him tight, content in their closeness.

      “We might need to consider investing in companies making household products.” Ianto mused. “Detergents, that sort of thing.”

      Jack's mind was still fuzzy. “Uh?”

      “Well, at the rate you and I go through sheets, we might as well get some of our money back.” Ianto dragged himself up, wincing at the new pains he was experiencing. “Come on. Shower.”

      “Sleep first,” Jack muttered, burrowing into the pillow.

      “If you come with me now, I'll make it worth your while.” 

      Ianto's offer, made in his blandest and most provocative tone of voice, had Jack turning over in bed to look up at him. “Oh?”

      “I am reliably informed that there are many interesting things you can do in a shower.”

      “Oh yeah.” Jack rolled out of bed and sprinted for the bathroom. “I've got quite a list.”

      Ianto followed at a much more sedate pace. “I thought you would.”.


End file.
